


Three Things We're Good At

by fingalsanteater



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst and Porn, F/M, Introspection, Kayfabe Compliant, Multi, POV First Person, Threesome - F/M/M, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-05-17 05:46:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5856484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fingalsanteater/pseuds/fingalsanteater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on <a href="https://wrestlingkink.dreamwidth.org/279.html?thread=345111">this prompt</a> at the kink meme. </p>
<p>Prompt: Roman and Dean have feelings for each other but refuse to acknowledge them. Instead, they use women as "buffer zones" to deal with their sexual desires.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Things We're Good At

**Author's Note:**

> Unanon-ing a fill from September 12, 2015. 
> 
> This is set in August 2015, right after Strowman debuted.

We're good at fighting, but we're not so good at losing. We're not so good at getting beat down, put down, or taking our licks. What Strowman did to you, crushed you so easily - you see, I don't mind losing to win another day, so what I mean is, I'm not so good at seeing you losing, seeing you beat down. It breaks me every time.

You whimpered when I lay my hand on you afterward. I crawled to you, on my hands and knees, your pain a rope stretched across the canvas and looped around my heart and with it I pulled myself to you. I touched your shoulder and you made a small, hurt sound that broke me in to tinier pieces still. _It's me_ , I said, _it's Dean_. And the way you repeated my name, just a quiet sigh, like I was your savior come, ground me to dust.

Later, we were sore and we were angry. I was more angry than you because I was angry with myself for not having your back better. I wanted to drink, because that's another thing we're good at and it's hard for beer to let you down so long as it's cold and you don't accidentally buy non-alcoholic.

I wasn't enough tonight, but at least I could buy you a drink.

The beers were nursing us, in this hotel room like a hospital with its white walls and white sheets, quiet except for the sound of our breathing. I couldn't stop looking at you, trying to decide if those bruises on your neck were a trick of the light, watching your throat move as you swallowed, watching the way your hand curled around your beer like it was anchoring you.

Or, maybe that was me, anchored to reality by the cold tin of the can, because I couldn't stop seeing you crumpled on the canvas like you were nothing.

Remembering you like that hurt just as much as Strowman's fist and drinking didn't help. It dulls the ache in my body but the image of you defeated is seared in my mind, already a scar to add to all my others.

I'm thinking about how I'm going to hurt them. It's all I seem to think about. I want to - fuck, I just want to destroy them. I need to.

The can of beer bends, tin crinkling loudly in my fist as I tighten my grip.

This beer drinking thing was going as well as the fighting did.

"We'll get them," you say, because you know exactly what I'm thinking. You know me, and that fact feels like bubbles or balloons in my chest, light and full, surface stretched thin, ready to pop.

I grin at you, a genuine smile stretching across my face. "Can I bring the toys this time? Make it a party? A big bash?"

You laugh and it sounds so good, not bitter or angry or mocking. You laugh like I've said the right thing, like it's exactly what you needed to hear.

"You bring the chairs and I'll bring the tables," you say, still laughing.

You sober quickly and, stone-faced, you say, "Let's make sure they have a real good time." You don't actually crack your knuckles, but I swear I hear the sound.

That's one thing I love about you, baby. You don't shy away from violence that needs doing. You don't shy away from me.

It's - it makes me want to... Well, it makes me want.

There was a third thing we were good at: for the PG crowd it was making ladies fall in love with us. For just me and you, though, it was fucking.

You were tired, and so was I, but there was this tension in the room and in us that just drinking and laughing and resting our bones wasn't dissipating. You watched me carefully, eyes narrowed and full of fire, as I called her up, a woman in town we'd fucked before. She knew how we liked it, and it'd be so easy to get off with her.

I was half-hard with anticipation by the time the knock came on the door, unable to resist palming my cock through my jeans while we waited. I was thinking about you fucking her, about how your cock looked so slick and shiny when it was being sucked.

It was the first thing I said to her. "Suck his cock," I said, and she laughed and climbed in between your legs on the bed without protest. She shimmied you out of your pants and took your cock in hand, her lips kissing the tip already pearly with pre-come. My mouth was dry and I tried to swallow as I pumped my own wet cock slowly, steadily.

Your cock was spit-slick and so swollen in her hand as she pulled back to tongue the head and I couldn't wait any longer. God, I was desperate to be inside her. Just watching her sucking you off had me ready to shoot my load.

You were watching me as I rolled on a condom, teeth bared in a grimace that seemed part pleasure and part pain. Hands tightening in her hair, you thrust deeper in her mouth, muscles of your thighs tightening as you lifted your hips from the bed. As she took you deeper, you groaned, your gaze fixed on me. You hadn't taken your eyes off me the entire time, same as always. I can never take my eyes off you either.

It doesn't hurt me to admit you're beautiful. That's just a fact, baby. But, fuck, when you look at me like that, I wonder what you're seeing in me.

When I finally slip my cock in her, you moan in tandem, gasping like my cock is sliding into both of you.  
She feels so good around me and it's hard to think straight. We're both in between your legs and she's still trying to suck your cock as I fuck her from behind. But I'm not looking at that. I'm looking at you looking at me, your dark hair loose and mussed against the pillow. I reach down and grab her hair, find your fingers already threaded through.

I can't touch you when we're fucking someone.

Here's the truth, Roman. I admit this to myself every time, and every time I think maybe I'm lying to myself too.

I want you. Fuck, Roman, that's the truth. I want to fuck you. And when I touch you like this, even just this quick brush of fingers, when I'm open and aching like this, I want so much more.

I look at your lips, mouth slack and parted, and I think I want to kiss you. I think I want to taste your skin, think I want to be the one who has their tongue wrapped around your cock.

I think this every time and I wonder if you can see the truth on my face. You have to be able to.

I want you so bad, you have to know. This feeling in me - for you, Roman - this feeling is like a living thing, hot and curled around my insides, squirming and breathing life into me where I was empty before.

It's like this every single time and I think this'll be it, this'll be the time I just can't keep my head. This'll be the time I kiss you or say your name when I come.

I don't want to ruin what we already are.

I move my hands from her head to her waist and you make a sound like a growl. You pull at her hair and say "Come up here," your voice a rumble in your throat. Your tone, your insistence, sends shivers down my spine and burns me through. I imagine it's me who crawls up your body and kisses you.

My cock slips out of her as she slides up your body to suck on your lower lip and I follow awkwardly on my knees. In this position our thighs are touching, and you spread your legs wider and bend your knees. When I thrust into her again it really is almost like I'm fucking you.

She straddles your waist on all fours and your cock jutting up rubs against her stomach. You kiss her neck and shoulder, eyes on me the entire time your mouth is on her. Your hand slides down the curve of her waist and disappears under her body to stroke her clit. I know because her whole body shudders when your fingers brush her swollen flesh, and I falter as I fuck her, wondering if you could make me shudder like that.

The longer you stare at me the way you're staring now, the harder it is to keep myself from dragging my hands up your thighs, from digging my fingers in your hips, from curling my fingers around your cock and letting you fuck my fist. I just want to come, because I can't stand to be this close to you without needing more. Your legs brush against mine, and I wish they were wrapped around me.

We're wrapped up in each other already and I hate that I need more than what we are.

I can tell she's stroking your cock by the look on your face and it's almost enough to send me over. I think about how much better it would be if it were me making you look that way. I should feel guilty about the way I'm using her, the way I'm fucking her instead of you, getting off on imagining she's not even there between us, but I don't. It's anger again, Roman, anger at myself for being a coward. I should just tell you how I want you, but I can't.

I close my eyes and imagine it's you, your name stuck in my throat when I come.

I pull away and stumble to bathroom, feeling your eyes on me all the way. I don't care about pretending to care about her anymore and I can't watch you either. I turn on the shower and let the water wash away everything, the sweat and come and I think maybe it can wash away these thoughts of you too.

"Is he alright?" I hear her ask as I turn off the water.

"Yeah, yeah," you say, dismissive and distracted. "Just a rough day. Thanks for... uh, coming." You sound rushed and the door closes without a response from her.

I walk out of the bathroom toweling off my hair, casual as I can manage.

"She gone already? Too bad. I was thinking about another go." I lie. You've pulled back on your pants, and you're sitting on the edge of the bed like you were waiting for me.

Mouth twisting in a frown, you say, "Yeah, after you took off to the bathroom things got a little weird."

I laugh, but it sounds forced. Because it is. I cover it up with the zip of my bag as I rummage around for clean pants. "Hey," I say, turning to face you and pulling on the shorts I've found, "I figured you'd want to finish on your own. And, what do you mean weird? Did she want to piss on you or something? I didn't think she was into that."

Your eyebrows raise almost to your hairline. I like when they do that and I'm struck with the sudden urge to kiss the wrinkles your forehead makes.

I'm still so raw, still a little on edge. I can never turn off the part of me that wants you, the part that loves you more than a brother, but I'm pretty good at keeping it hidden. This time feels different, I feel just as broken - like I've been many times before - but I'm having trouble putting myself back together.

"Nah, man. Nothing like that. It was just - I was worried about you, I guess. I couldn't..." you pause so long I think you're not going to finish your sentence, but then you take in a deep breath and whisper. "I wasn't feeling it after you left." Your words sound weighty and secretive, like you're confessing something, and I can't help let out a little laugh because I was getting lost and you found me again with just the right words.

I squeeze your shoulder and flop down on the bed next to you. "Hey, you're tired. Don't break out the Viagra just yet, man. It happens to the best of us. I've dealt with a wilted dick after a long day plenty of times."

It normally makes me feel better to reassure you about something so simple, but the smile you offer in response is so tight and forced it might as well be a frown.

"Yeah, you're right," you say, and it sounds exhausted and resigned.

I'm missing something, but I can't figure it out.

Neither of us is very good at talking about things, though, so when you head toward the bathroom to clean up, I let you go without another word. I stare at the door you've closed behind you and wonder what it really was you were confessing.


End file.
